Opening Match (1)
"Hmm~ Hmm hmm~ Hmm hmm hmm~"
Nam Suhyeon, the manager of Gimpo Green UTD, hummed a little tune as he rifled through his files. It was all thanks to yesterday's tactics meeting, which had left him in high spirits.
"What do you think, Coach Kim? I still reckon the Miguel-Paulo combo is our best bet. For now, it'd be smart to shift Olmunt to the wing. Considering the tools we've got, anyway."
"I'd like to try Olmunt up top as a striker, just once. His physicality's too lacking to be stuck on the flank. Coach Park agrees with me."
"Hmm... Once we sort out his mental block with physical battles, we'll give it a shot. No sense exposing weaknesses this early. It's still too soon."
That upbeat loop from yesterday's meeting showed no signs of stopping. How many sighs had he heaved upon seeing the mercenaries the front office had signed before he even arrived? But after the Jeju match, all those worries had vanished.
Who could've predicted that Olmunt—a guy they'd been ready to cut—would transform like this? Just the other day, he'd been sighing over Gimpo's weak defense. Now, images of Olmunt gliding past Jeju Mobiles players like water kept popping into his head.
The conviction from their one-on-one talk—that the Jeju game wasn't just luck—came as a bonus. Even conservatively, Olmunt looked good for more than half the season. Sure, someone might say one game? Really? But precisely, it was 45 minutes.
In that short span, Olmunt had captivated Nam Suhyeon. The evolved Olmunt felt like a brand-new signing. That's how he saw it.
In other words, Gimpo had bolstered both attack and defense with Olmunt and Kim Donghan. Truth be told, Nam Suhyeon hadn't come to Gimpo Green UTD with high hopes. Even before the Jeju match, that mindset hadn't wavered much.
Not until Olmunt stepped up in that game. He'd figured mid-table at best, but now? The Olmunt he'd witnessed against Jeju had the makings of a player greater than the team. At least in the second division.
A player who could elevate the whole squad. So his goal had shifted to promotion to the first division.
An ambition to achieve something at Gimpo began to stir in Nam Suhyeon's mind—like drinking that illusory kimchi soup with headlines screaming [Young Manager Nam Suhyeon Writes a Miracle!]
Thinking of Lee Jeonghui, the first-division Gwangju manager around his age, he closed his eyes and smiled faintly. He could become like the man he'd dreamed of while coaching the college team—those vague fantasies were crystallizing.
The stingy front office wasn't helping his goals one bit, but whatever. Gimpo's few strengths included a solid squad relative to their pitiful budget. Yoon Chaewoo went without saying. Jeong Hyeongjin might be past his prime, but still first-division caliber. Yoo Dojin was a touch short on skill but invaluable for his leadership.
And sprinkled among the core players were some decent backups. As he hummed away, tweaking tactics, his phone rang.
"Ah, Coach Kim, what's up?"
"Um... Coach, big trouble."
Hearing Coach Kim's hesitant voice over the line, Nam Suhyeon suddenly had a bad feeling.
"Don't tell me... an injury?"
Praying desperately it wasn't, he asked. Five seconds of silence from his phone, then a single word.
"Paulo's out. Flu, they say. Looks like 3-4 games sidelined. We'll need Plan B."
His head throbbed at the news, but as manager, he couldn't whine.
"It's fine. We've seen what Olmunt can do. Let's trust him."
Forcing a casual reply, Nam Suhyeon collapsed into his chair.
"Ha... Nothing's ever straightforward."
Sighing inwardly, he pulled out his tactics notebook.
"The manager said... I'm playing wing."
I nearly blurted it out as Yoon Jongmun, not Olmunt, from the shock. Lately, I'd been mulling when to ramp up my Korean fluency.
Wouldn't it strain credibility if I suddenly spoke perfectly? I'm no author—why worry about plot logic? Maybe next season?
Even my current level draws suspicion sometimes. I brush it off by saying I only use phrases I've picked up gradually. Coach Kim, sweating bullets to explain right now, is a prime example.
"Sorry, Olmunt. You probably heard from Paulo already, but he's got the flu."
Misunderstanding cleared: I hadn't heard from Paulo. Surprise, apparently. I was itching to smack the Brazilian duo upside the head.
Seeing my expression, Coach patted my shoulder and continued.
"Good thing it hasn't spread. Flu outbreaks are a nightmare. If you and Miguel caught it, I'd be bawling."
With no negativity from me, he cracked a joke. Fair enough—I'd hate to see burly Coach Kim sobbing.
I acknowledged him and headed to the training pitch. Miguel approached right away.
"Did the manager chew you out or something?"
"Nah, I'm starting as striker."
"Weren't you wing? Makes sense with Paulo's flu."
"Yeah, and the manager likes what he saw."
Miguel didn't seem too surprised. He pondered briefly, then...
"Then feed me goals!"
He yelled, grabbing and shaking my shoulders. Well, he was the one shaking, not me.
One Jeju game, and the impact was this big? The way he was fawning over me said it all.
"Yeah, got it. Keep shaking, and I'll bag a hat-trick solo, then celebrate right in your face."
As it got awkward, my quip made him back off, feigning innocence.
"I'll hold you to it, friend!"
His mouth lingered. Body retreated, words stayed.
If I had to pick who surprised me most since joining Gimpo, it'd be Miguel. Yoon Chaewoo, Jeong Hyeongjin, Lee Eunsang, Paulo, Yoo Dojin—they all matched my first impressions.
But Miguel still looked like a stern soldier one minute, childish the next. No immunity yet.
And lately, he was acting extra weird. Always kinda odd, but more so now. Agent calls spiking. Sleep-talking in Japanese. Not just mumbling—team names too.
"Yokohama? Sugoi~. Tokyo? Sukoi~."
Paulo spilled it. Impressive he'd studied that hard and still mangled it. Maybe he just wants Japan. Could be nice there.
Nah. But broadly, forgiveness possible. Grabbing me and Paulo daily, begging for assists? Unforgivable.
Forwards obsess over goals, sure. But none whine like a three-year-old, "Score for meeee!"
Should've spilled everything right after reincarnating. No chickening out.
Problem: it's escalating. Everyone knows his Japan fixation—er, J-League love. Dropping hints to Dojin hyung shocked me. With how obvious he was, how could they not?
Dojin hyung shrugged coolly: "If he goes, good for you, right?"
True worry: what if he pulls some stunt? At first, he was just a rival—Japan flop means my spot opens. Win-win.
But now, with the manager's trust confirmed, he's a teammate. A goal-scoring one. Just don't slack off and ruin the vibe.
Shoving worries aside, I dove into training.
My original role was winger. Not that I couldn't do others, but central striker still felt off.
This new role? Less awkward. Manager's orders: play central, then switch to right wing on a dime. Like an advanced forward in some soccer game.
"Olmunt!"
Lee Junkyung hyung took my pass, cushioned it, and rifled a shot.
Thwack!
Goal. He grinned, thumbs-upping me. Reason for him on right wing? I disrupt with runs and links; he hammers the box.
Smart—exploiting my style shift. Opponents still have old intel on me. Easy pickings.
Could reuse this post-opener.
"Nice one, Olmunt. When you drop deep, Junkyung infiltrates, Taehyun overlaps. Shake off any markers."
That day, we drilled patterns and fine tactics till end. Next day, same grind. Thursday already—opener in two.
Something felt different.
"Move, Miguel! What're you doing? Get tighter!"
"Chaewoo, few more sets on this pattern!"
Training flowed smooth. Confidence rippled through the squad.
Now, just nail my part. Felt like it.
Less burden, more drive to prove. No expectations as "non-Gimpo guy" helped.
Camp buzz leaked vaguely—rumors I shone late. Community posts popped, got buried in dislikes.
At this point, they'd cheer my dribbles. Foreign player turned meme: "body over ball." Kinda funny.
First touch crisp? They'd gawk like cavemen at fire.
Nutmeg a guy? Chaos.
"Heh heh heh."
Imagining their shock, I chuckled.
"What's up...?"
"Dunno, brooding then bursts out laughing?"
"He's fine, probably."
Teammates whispered, eyeing me weird. Whatever.
Deep in thought, I headed home from pitch. Technically club-provided, but home's home.
Expected rumination; nope, crashed. Too tired.
Days flew to opener. No grueling sessions day before.
Now, just prove it to the fans.
Brimming with fire, I boarded the bus.